We Will Be Okay

I will never forget the face of the EMT who broke the devastating news to me that Woody did not survive the fall. His eyes were full of regret, his brow furrowed. “I’m so sorry.” That’s all he said. No more, no less, but the meaning in those three words was communicated effectively.  My only response was a weak “no” as I fell to a heap on the ground. A couple, who had just come upon the scene, picked me up and held me. They walked—carried really—me to the waiting ambulance where more medical personnel waited, anxious to tend to my needs.

Everything was a blur. They had to be wrong. I asked the EMT’s who were in the back of the ambulance to check again. Someone was mistaken. There had to be more they could do! No. No mistake. They did all they could for him. He was dead. “Pray with me,” was all I could muster in that moment, and awkwardly they complied.  My only thought was for my waiting children whom I had promised hours before that their daddy would not die. And now I must break my promise. I would be responsible for relaying the news that would turn their world upside down.

White County had a chaplain waiting with Hunter, Haley and Haden. By the time I asked one of the EMTs to drive me to my waiting children, I was calm, a miracle really. I do not remember the words I used. I do not remember their response. I only remember that we stood in a circle holding hands with the chaplain and we prayed. Before we began, the chaplain looked around at the circle of blood-  and tear-stained faces before him and said, “I have done this a lot, but never have I felt the presence of the Holy Spirit like I do with this family. You will be okay.”

And here we are. Nearly eight months later, we have survived our first holiday season without the life of the party. We gave thanks for our blessings, picked out the perfect Christmas tree, decorated for the season in which we would celebrate our Savior’s birth, and opened presents one by one in front of the fire place and gave thanks because we were together. We all wrote letters to Woody and placed them in his stocking Christmas Eve and prayed that God would read them to Woody. We wondered what it must be like celebrating Jesus’ birth in His presence. And other than hitting a wall mid-afternoon, I survived being mom and dad to our children and kept everyone cheerful and grateful. We did it!

Somehow God keeps us grounded. Somehow He has brought joy and peace when in all reality, standing in the parking lot at Mt. Yonah nearly eight months ago with my children and a nameless chaplain, I never thought we would ever have again. We have survived a nightmare too terrible for words. We lived through the most traumatizing experience we will ever know, and yet we are sane.

I do not know what the future holds for me, but I do know that I am healing. I now know what the chaplain knew that day—we will be okay.

Beautiful As You Are

I have shared this post many times. However, I believe it is a message that every woman/girl needs at least once a year. You are beautiful! Do not let the world around you define who you are. We have a great identity crisis in our world. We have let an unseen enemy steal our identities and feed us with lies. What's worse is that we believe the lies! We believe we are not good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, talented enough, and the list goes on. If you want to know who you are, read Ephesians 1 or John 16-17. You are empowered and loved by the God of the Universe! You are beautiful just as you are!

“I’m fat!”  She looks in the mirror with loathing.  The image being reflected back to her looks nothing like the image she sees gracing the cover of every fashion magazine at the supermarket.  Her physique isn’t dangerously thin; her complexion isn’t satiny smooth and airbrushed to perfection.  Therefore, in this media driven society, she has come to believe that she is fat and ugly.  And as a woman, we have all stood there with her, believing the lies, hating the image.

The reality?  She is perfect.  She is a healthy weight and refreshingly natural for a growing, adolescent girl.  Yet, one can’t tell her the facts enough that she’ll ever believe them.  She believes what she sees, and the voice of truth passes by her like a soft, summer breeze barely noticeable in the heat of the scorching afternoon sun.  The images burn her soul until her self-confidence lies in a heap of ashes waiting to be carried away with the next gust of wind.

God created a world full of beautiful, diverse things.  No two sunsets are ever the same, yet each one is as breathtaking as the next.  Not once do we stop and say, “No, this one’s not pretty.  Only the one that had the streaks of magenta swirling through the slate blue sky in just the right proportions was beautiful.  That’s what every sunset should look like.  And if it doesn’t, it’s not good enough.  It’s not perfect!”  Instead, we appreciate each sunset for its uniqueness.

Of all the flowers in the world, with their varying shades of color, size, and shape, not once have we taken a pure white, slender rose and photographed it (airbrushing out all its imperfections), and placed it on the cover of every gardening magazine and said, “This is the only flower that has beauty worth having!”  In fact, most horticulturists would tell you that those lovely white roses fade very quickly and are difficult to raise.  It would be more practical to choose something with a more lasting beauty that is hardier.

Why, then, does our society do this to women?  And who gets to choose the ideal?

Daughters of America, do you not realize you are wonderfully and perfectly made by a loving God that recognizes what true beauty is?  You are beautiful because you are different!  Psalm 139:13-14 (NIV) states, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”  Did you get that?  God’s works are wonderful!  You are His work!  You are beautiful!  You are perfect just the way God created you while you were still in your mother’s womb.

It’s time to go to the mirror, look at the reflection, and appreciate the image that you see—another sunset gracing the sky with diversity and delight; a rare flower blooming to perfection.  That’s you!  It’s time to embrace who God created you to be no matter what your color, shape, or size.  Be beautiful, my dear sisters!  God created you that way!

Preparing For Our First Christmas

Twelve days until Christmas—our first Christmas without Woody. I have wondered many times how I would feel, or even manage to muddle through the holiday season without him. He did all the Christmas shopping knowing my aversion for shopping of any sort. He was the one who seemed to always finagle at least one party invitation or organize a Christmas dinner for his employees at our house. He loved entertaining. He loved any reason to celebrate, and Christmas embodied everything he loved most—faith, family, and friends. And yet, here we are less than two weeks from the day that for the first time in my life I am dreading.

Every Christmas morning for the past 20 years, Woody has risen before anyone else to prepare the family room for our arrival. The Christmas tree lights were turned on, Christmas music played, a fire roared in the fireplace, stockings were stuffed, and eggnog was poured. When all was ready, he would come to the bottom of the stairs and look up where I waited with our children and dogs at the top. He would snap our picture, and then bellow, “Who’s ready to see if Santa came?” The children and dogs would pile down the stairs full of excitement. He gained so much joy from watching his family relish the thoughtful little gifts in each stocking, and then he would hand out the presents one at a time as we sat patiently watching the recipient open his or her package to see what surprise waited hidden behind red and silver paper and bows galore. He never wanted to stop and open his packages. We had to insist that he pause to take a turn. We always came first.

I’m not sure how I will manage Christmas morning. We have decided to change things up just a bit in order to avoid the emptiness his absence will leave. Instead of coming home after Christmas Eve service and fixing our standard dinner for Christmas Eve—seafood bouillabaisse—we will go out to dinner. Instead of staying in our pajamas all day on Christmas, we will go see a movie. Anything to shake things up a bit. Anything to numb the pain for just a moment. I know it will still hurt. I know we will still miss him, but I have to try something.

Only five more months of first. And then we will have other milestones to maneuver through, but I think the first Christmas must be the most difficult. However, God is good. He continues to bring healing. Every day I laugh a little more. I am beginning to feel alive again. I know we will survive and find joy and peace just as a hurting world came to know over 2,000 years ago. 

Insomnia

2:00 AM….

3:00 AM….And I watch as the clock continues to mark time. The children are resting peacefully. For that I am thankful. I wonder if they are ever plagued with insomnia—a mind that will not shut down, a mind that relives that day over and over again. I wonder too, how long slumber will elude me. How long will it be before my dreams let me sleep rather than wake me with a frightful foreboding? I could possibly live another 40 years. Will I always wake in the middle of the night with the memory of that day clamoring my thoughts? Will the solitude always feel so substantial?

I know God has protected me from feeling the full force of that day. I am sheltered under His wings from the arrows that whiz toward my heart. However, during the night my guard is down, my mind is weak, and the attacks on my serenity are powerful and persistent. So under those wings I crawl, barely able to breathe, waiting for His sweet relief. I know in time it will come. For now, it just seems  so distant, so out of reach, that it may never come.

4:00 AM….Hopefully, I will not witness that hour tonight, not consciously. Perhaps sleep will finally be mine.

A Daughter's View Point

A cry for help? Physical pain to cover the emotional torment that plagues a young girl’s life? Whatever the excuse, however it may be labeled; the act itself must be taken seriously. Fear. Desolation. No sense of value. My poor daughter’s world has been turned upside down. Her biggest cheerleader, her constant affirmation, the man who made her feel like the princess she is, is gone—ripped violently from her life in a manner too horrible for words. She watched for hours as he struggled against the agonizing pain—as her mother tried to piece together the back of her daddy’s head in an attempt to stop some of the bleeding. She tried to look into eyes that bulged from his face, closed from the swelling. The mouth that had spoken words of encouragement and kissed her lovingly on the forehead coughed up blood and moaned in agony. “How long?” she cried, exasperated, terrified as we waited for help to come. Fear of plunging down the granite slope plagued her with every move her daddy made. “Please STOP!” And the hours lingered. An eternity was lived within a day.

Angry? A constant state of anger, misery, distress, and dread. Yes, God is real, but she questions His choices. How can good come from this? She sees the people who have been helped, but she really doesn’t care. In all reality, she would let them suffer the wrath of God and be forever lost for one more day with her daddy. There is no room for compassion in the midst of her anguish. Not now. And she is surrounded by people who seem to be healing and managing the grief for which she cannot find resolution. Alone in a world where she has no power or peace.

I know she will survive this. In time the trauma of that day will fade into a distant memory with not as much pain associated with it. Those memories will not cut so deeply, wounding the soul with every remembrance. If she can learn to lean on her Heavenly Father, she will come to know the peace she seeks so desperately. She will learn to trust the world again. She will know where her help comes from. Someday the void in her heart will grow smaller as God fills it with the love of a husband and children of her own. Someday only joy will accompany the memories of her devoted daddy.  

Someday….we are just not there yet.

The Hardest Hit

Today I nearly laid my weapons down and walked off the battle field. I was completely defeated. With shoulders slumped, tears blurring my vision, I was ready to raise the white flag and concede to the enemy. Never mind that this week had been a series of victories in which I had taken back battle ground and had revealed the identity of the true enemy. Forget that I had acquired new, more effective weapons which were successfully rendering the enemy powerless. Today I was hit with a nuclear powered blast—biological warfare for which I was unprepared. The wind was knocked from my lungs as I hit the ground with an impact significant enough to register on the Richter scale. However, once I was able to get my bearings and breathe again, feelings of outrage filled my lungs. You see, the enemy hit me where it really hurts; tonight he attacked my kids, and that will always bring out the “mama bear” in me. Satan, the gloves are off! No one messes with my children! When you attack them, you attack my Father, and He has already handed you your head on a platter. You will NOT have the victory here! You will NOT take my children down with you! They belong to the Commander and Creator. AND, they have been placed in my care and I will fight you with my dying breath!

This means war! I have reloaded and refueled. My tears have run dry. My sobs have been soothed. I have strapped on my boots, picked up my shield, and am ready to wield the most deadly sword there is. I am armed and dangerous and I have everything within my arsenal aimed right at you!

No, today I will not give in. Today, and every day that God gives me, I will battle on and eventually stand in the victor’s circle with my King.

No More Lies!

Lies. I have believed so many of them throughout my life. However, the one I am continually deceived by is the one that leads me to believe that I am in control of everything that happens in my life. Satan has me so duped! I have believed this particular lie for so long that I have begun to see it as truth. If only I had been a more obedient child perhaps I would not have been disciplined so severely. If only I had not been alone with a certain male family member I would not have been molested. If only I had had more faith, the children within my womb would have survived.  If only I had prayed more fervently, Woody would not have died.  If only.... And I have believed the great deceivers accusations every time. I have fallen into despair believing that I will never be good enough or strong enough to be an effective warrior in God’s army. I have worn the yoke of oppression and have been crushed under its weight just knowing that I deserved every evil outcome—every strike against my soul—because I am responsible for causing others around me to sin. I am responsible when the laws of nature take away my child or my husband. It’s all on me.

Not anymore! A friend called me this morning to pull back the curtain and reveal the deceiver behind the deception—to connect the dots, so to speak. I had no control over my abuse as a child, no more than I had that fateful Mother’s Day on Mount Yonah. Nothing I could have done would have changed the outcome. Satan, once again, has pulled out every weapon in his arsenal in an attempt to attack and destroy my prayer life. He has tricked me into believing that my relationship with God is damaged and that my communication has been hindered by a lack of faith. That is not the case. I was not the only person on or off that mountain that prayed for Woody’s life. We were completely covered by prayers. Many pleaded for Woody’s life that day. I never thought Woody would die because although I knew his injuries were life threatening and that the laws of nature deemed that he should die, I knew my God was big enough to alter those laws and allow a miracle to occur on our behalf. What I did not know is that He would say no. That was the day God had chosen to take Woody to his eternal home. No one could have changed the outcome. This is not on me!

No more lies! I am finished allowing lies to define who I am. I am a cherished daughter of the King. He is lovingly holding me in His arms, gently rubbing my back as the sobs rack my body, wiping away the tears. He has a plan for me far better than any I can imagine. He has not abandoned my side. He has plucked me up into His arms to carry me through this turbulent time. That is the truth that needs to resonate through my life. The father of fabrication has lost this battle. This lie—the one he has deceived me with my whole life—has been exposed for what it is. From this day forward, God’s truth will define and liberate me. Finally, I have been freed from this lie.